


O Stay With Me Slightly

by aerialbots



Series: the stars downward drifting [2]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: War for Cybertron
Genre: M/M, Seeker Trines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 21:04:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3148484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aerialbots/pseuds/aerialbots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"I know history. There are many names in history, but none of them are ours."</i> -- Richard Siken, <i>Little Beast</i>.</p><p>Science hadn't prepared Jetfire for the reality of war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	O Stay With Me Slightly

It goes like this:

The base is attacked by Megatron. The dark energon containment cell is breached. Starscream betrays their entire planet for the promise of power.

Jetfire runs.

 

 

The Autobots accept him into their midst easily enough, for nearly everyone here has lost someone to the Decepticon cause. In this he is no different than one in every three, but he still prefers not to talk about it if he can. It's still too recent, the wounds of betrayal still too fresh, and after the first few days of deflection and monosyllabic answers no one really bothers to talk to him much.

There are nearly no fliers, here. 'Here' almost being merely a shared state of mind, rather than a specific location -- the Autobots struggle to find resources and safe places, and bases are changed and abandoned nearly as soon as they settle into them proper.

Jetfire is a scientist, an explorer, has dedicated his life to the discovery of the universe and its workings, to the unravelling of unknowns, and yet here he is no more than another pair of wings, thrusters where there should be wheels. The Autobots try, but there are moments where he can almost understand why the Decepticons rose against Cybertron's government. There's a near-daily dance of culture shock, as people who never faced real, insurmountable problems or a single look of distrust or scorn in their lives are suddenly forced to interact with others beyond their tiny, self-contained social niches.

(' _How come_ he's _a scientist?_ ', they ask in whispers more than once, blissfully oblivious to his class' hypersensitive hearing, to the dull ache of frustration and embarrassment creeping into his spark. Jetfire's been through with hating his frame for nearly longer than he can remember, by now, and yet the words never become less hurtful, the urge to scream never fading with time.)

 

 

They slap him into a patchwork team like a field weld, held together by frayed wire and prayers, and it's only after he meets his new wingmates that he realises he's been made part of the command trine.

Air Raid is a fine warrior, he supposes, or at least that's what Air Raid himself tells everyone constantly, but he is a far better fighter than he is a soldier. There is a difference, Jetfire knows, and it's fixed on a very simple fact -- soldiers know when to listen to orders. He possesses an abrasive sort of self-assurance that reminds Jetfire painfully of Starscream, from the way he walks to the teasing words that come out of his mouth sharp as glass rather than good-natured, and it doesn't take very long before he learns to ignore the younger flier until he finds someone more interesting to ramble at.

And then there's Silverbolt, who was put in charge of the Autobots' entire air forces. Silverbolt, who is apparently terrified of heights.

He finds this out thanks to Air Raid, unsurprisingly, Air Raid and his jabs at anyone and everyone around him regardless of rank and relative station, and Jetfire's field becomes hot/cold with mortification at the way Air Raid mentions it oh-so-casually, leaning against the mess hall table like he's talking about some inconsequential incident rather than shaming their Air Commander in front of half of the base, the way everyone ignores it as if it were normal, even as their wings or faces shift into minute cringes.

There's Silverbolt, who seems impervious to anyone's opinion of him unless it's in the spirit of improvement, who is cautious and determined and as fierce in battle as anyone else, for all that he is quieter than most.

Jetfire doesn't know how he's supposed to even begin to belong with these two. In all honesty, outside of battle, he doesn't dare, nor want to try.

 

 

Even in war, life inevitably settles into a rhythm. There's rather more noise and gunfire than is natural, stress constantly gnawing at the edge of everyone's processors and making them curt and short-tempered, yet at the same time it seems to weave them into tight-knit groups, brought closer together by each hard-won victory and painful defeat.

There are rather more defeats than victories, but once again, no one feels like mentioning it too often.

Jetfire's unused to flying with anyone at his wing, at first, never having had constant wingmates save for Starscream, but slowly he finds his place in the trine's orbit, learns to fall into the space left behind Silverbolt's flank, to block the hits that would bring down Air Raid's shields but only temporarily diminish his own, to follow their warnings to rise or dive or find cover without even having to process them anymore. He learns to tolerate Air Raid's careless attitude, once he relaxes and dials down the antagonising comments a notch or two, to the point where Jetfire actually enjoys his teasing just as he enjoys Silverbolt's rare smiles and wry sense of humour. He still prefers solitude, but he doesn't really feel lonely anymore.

He even manages to forget about Silverbolt's fear, most of the time. Or maybe 'forget' is not the right word. It's not a constant thought that has switched off suddenly, but rather an awareness in battle, the same way he's aware of wind and gravity and temperature. It's just another factor taken into account, until it isn't, because for all that he doesn't deny it, Silverbolt doesn't really act like he's afraid of heights. Not unless you're looking very, very carefully, close enough to notice the fractional moments where Silverbolt will steel himself before pulling higher into the atmosphere, or the way he doesn't ever land in root mode, even from relatively short altitudes.

Jetfire tells himself it's scientific curiosity that makes him look close enough to see.

 

 

People still comment on it, of course, though never to Silverbolt's face. Jetfire develops a strange sort of respect for Air Raid's refusal to join in their hushed whispering, because for all he can be a tactless slagger, he at least doesn't hide his opinions about their commander's phobia only to air them the moment Silverbolt turns his back, doesn't conveniently forget how competent Silverbolt actually is for the sake of gossiping.

The thing is, half the Autobots' air forces are filled by armed civilians, scarred and weary and occasionally still clumsy on their military armour upgrades, Jetfire included. Even ones such as Air Raid, the ex-guards or mercenaries with varying degrees of combat experience on their side, are usually incapable of following orders for sky or Primus, and no matter what any of them say, the war is making them all sick to their sparks. Jetfire feels hyper-conscious of it after every battle and mission, the weight on his wings and the awareness that he's _killed_ , now, that there's other mechs' energon in his hands and their lives on his conscience, a near-physical force dragging him further down than even gravity.

More than anything, he's aware of how afraid he is. Because at some point he might have known these people, crossed paths with them in another time and place and circumstances, and there could have been kindness in the exchange, rather than fear and hatred and the subjectivity of the wrong and right sides of a gun. Jetfire knows fear now, knows it like a tangible thing that claws at your wings, clenches around your spark like fists trying to extinguish a flame, and if that's how Silverbolt feels every time he takes to the air, he may be the strongest person Jetfire has ever met.

 

 

Jetfire's aware, in a deliberately detached way, that he's mostly just fooling himself at this point. Starscream's memory weighs on him, a living ghost behind his shoulder, creeping on him like smoke whenever there are news of another attack from the Decepticons' air forces, and even though he knows it's not the healthiest behaviour, he can't quite bring himself to open up or trust people too much again, to think about them as anything beyond fellow soldiers.

And yet he does.

Air Raid notices, of course, but even once he figures it out and his optics become sharper with sudden understanding, he doesn't comment on it, publicly or otherwise, just smirks slyly at Jetfire whenever he catches him looking at Silverbolt, or smiling in response to something their wing leader says. Part of Jetfire wants to look further into it, though whether 'it' would be the reason behind his sudden tactfulness or his opinion of the... situation, Jetfire isn't entirely sure.

He doesn't think Silverbolt realises, and he's thankful for it, if he were to be honest. He would never dare to say anything outright, wouldn't even know how to, but he at least has the comfort of knowing Silverbolt seems to appreciate his presence, even if he probably doesn't crave it like Jetfire wishes for his. And if he starts approaching Silverbolt to talk as well, instead of disappearing into whatever quarters he is assigned as soon as a mission is over, or asks to join him for refuelling more often, or offers to help Silverbolt patch himself up during a lull in the fighting, well. He's just learning to be braver.


End file.
